The weekend at my mother's house was quieter than expected.
She cooked too much food, complained about my driving, and asked whether I had started dating again.
I avoided that question.
On Saturday afternoon, I briefly wondered how Mark's party was going.
I pictured people laughing in my yard while he stood near the grill. I considered sending him a message to remind him about the flowers, but I stopped myself.
I did not want to act controlling.
He had given me no reason not to trust him.
By Sunday afternoon, my mother was trying to convince me to stay another night.
"You can leave before traffic tomorrow," she said.
"I have work."
"You can work from here."
"I also have laundry."
She frowned.
"That is the saddest excuse I have ever heard."
I laughed, hugged her, and left before she could pack another container of food into my car.
